Page 46 of Highland Spy

“Me?” Caleb squeaked out. He cleared his throat and continued. “Oh, I think Logan here is a better choice to take Storm’s place.” He was trying to get out of it, but the king was not making it easy.

“Dinna be so modest, Caleb,” said the king with a low, hearty chuckle. “I’ve read about all yer heroic acts in the chronicles, and there is no doubt in my mind that ye are the one who should take Storm’s place in the competition. Now, I’ll no’ hear another word about it. Hurry on over to the broad jump. And remember, keep yer eyes and ears open for anyone or anythin’ that seems suspicious. Ye will be my Highland Spy.”

Chapter 16

“Are ye sure ye heard the king right?” asked Caleb’s brother, Quinn, as Caleb stretched and readied himself for the broad jump.

“He really said he wanted ye to take Storm’s place?” asked Quinn’s twin brother, Finn.

“In the Leader of the Lairds Competition?” added Grant, shaking his head, not able to believe it either.

“Aye, that’s what he said.” Caleb didn’t like the idea any more than his brothers, Logan or Storm, but what was he to do?

“After all those things the king read about Caleb in the Highland Chronicles, the king decided there was no one better to compete,” said Logan, sounding a little jealous if Caleb wasn’t mistaken.

“Caleb! Caleb,” called out Bridget, running over with her father on her heels. Her father held the Highland Chronicles in his hands. “What is goin’ on? Why are ye over here and why is Storm sittin’ on the bench?”

“Storm broke his toe and I’m takin’ his place in the competition,” said Caleb.

“Aye, can ye believe it?” mumbled Logan with a roll of his eyes.

Bridget beamed. “What an honor to be chosen to compete in a competition that is just for lairds.” She seemed to glow with pride as she smiled at him.

“Bridget, can ye watch Slink for me while I compete?” Caleb bent down and picked up his pine marten and handed it to her. “Dinna let him wander off or he might get trampled by the crowd.”

“Watch the pine marten?” She held it at arm’s length, looking terrified to do it.

“I canna watch him myself since I need to compete,” Caleb told her.

“I – I suppose I can do it,” she said, still not looking comfortable with the situation.

“And do me a favor,” added Caleb.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Dinna write anythin’ else about me in the Highland Chronicles.”

“Nay? Why no’?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll already never live up to what ye’ve written about me, and I dinna want the king to have any more expectations of me from now on.”

“Ye’ll do fine, Caleb,” said Bridget, cuddling the pine marten in the crook of her arm. “I have faith in ye. Ye can do it.”

“I wish I could say the same,” mumbled Caleb, heading over to the starting line.

Bridget watched nervously from the sidelines as one man after another ran and jumped, and his distance was measured. They were down to the last two men, and Owen, of Clan Grant was up next. He was a young man, probably around Caleb’s age or a little older, but seemed much too young to be a laird. He was also quick and agile. Bridget had been studying the contestants and their strengths, and then writing them into the Highland Chronicles later, in private. She was sure Owen would do well in this event.

The horn sounded and Owen started to run. But just as he reached the line where he was to jump, he tripped! His attempt at the broad jump was horrible, and he wasn’t allowed to try again. He would be awarded no points, same as Storm with the caber toss.

“It’s no’ fair. My shoe came apart!” the man bellowed, holding up his foot to show the crowd. The sole of the shoe hung loose, as if the stitches had all given way. The crowd became restless upon seeing this.

“Caleb MacKeefe will jump next, bein’ proxy for Chieftain Storm MacKeefe,” announced the herald. Concerned conversations of the crowd became louder. There were also protests from the clans of the other men in the competition, saying it wasn’t fair that Caleb was competing when he wasn’t a laird. This was a competition for lairds only. Still, it didn’t matter because it was the king’s decision.

“Ye can do this, Caleb,” said Bridget, watching him intently, putting the pine marten down atop the fence.

“Bridget, Storm MacKeefe looks different,” whispered her father, squinting his eyes, trying to see across the field. His eyesight usually wasn’t that bad for distance, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t see Caleb.

“Da, ye just heard Caleb say Storm is hurt and he is competin’ for him.”